A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!
I love the true end of summer and beginning of fall, marked by Labor Day and the first day of school.These are important rituals in the life of a family.
Nature marks it, too: mosquitoes swarm for a last all night drunk, and in the morning yellow maple leaves are on the ground. This year is different, though. The mosquitoes and leaves were there, but no new backpacks hung in my breezeway, waiting to be claimed by kids rushing out the door in new shoes.
Normal 0 Like many Americans, I’ve been pondering lately which breed of dog is best suited to be our next Vice President. Such a relief that we’ve gotten over the sex thing and established that traits in the breeding and character, not gender, suit one to be the President’s first loyal companion.
You may agree with the Republicans that it’s the Pit Bull. But I’m not so sure that’s the best breed for the job. One of our first visits to the libertarian dog park on the County Grounds, a pair of Irish Setter-colored half-Pits took my dog down viciously while their owners ignored them, so I’m prejudiced. I guess I should be prejudiced against the handlers, but it's the dogs that did the damage.
I have to admit to being envious of Sarah Palin about one thing: her success in the hunt.
I'm referring here to the job hunt. While I have nothing against hunting certain critters for food, I have no taste for it. Venison, yes. An occasional pheasant. But not the hunt. Once, my friend Lynda and I stole her bother's bows and arrows and were messing around with them, and I shot a Siberian crow. That was a shock, and more than enough of that kind of thrill for me.
“Are they going to take my BlackBerry?” one "shocked and angry" Lehman Brothers employee asked at a bar this weekend. “Come on, come get it!”
Oh, the indignity of pending BlackBerry loss. One is tempted to say "go out and buy your own like the rest of us do!"
An unusually careful reader of my previous blog entry wrote, "Shouldn't that be BlackBerrys, not BlackBerries?"
Like so many of us during times of major turmoil, his eye is on what really matters: spelling. Or better, the proper use of trademarks, which I neglected to use because I didn't know how to make the little "R" in a circle mark in this program -- until it occurred to me to cut and paste it in. Like this: ®
When I started my BlackBerry® riff the other day, I had no idea that Senator John McCain created the device.
That's a little surprising, as he doesn't know how to use computers or e-mail, but I guess when you've been a prisoner of war there's nothing you can't do.
If you haven't looked for a job in a while, trust me when I tell you it's some of the hardest work you'll do. Even harder than looking for a mate: the consequences of that hunt are serious, too, but at least you might get some good meals and good stories to tell out of the quest.
But the upside is that on a day like today, you can do the most important thing there is to do: be in it.
Excuse me for being a little cranky.
The job hunt is not going well. Every day I pore through lists of jobs, most of which want impossibly little or impossibly much. I won't open the mail telling me how much my painfully saved little retirement fund has lost: who needs to know that now? What would you do with the information? Sometimes ignorance postpones grief over things you can't do much about anyway.
During our morning constitutional, Idgy and I meet and greet people who are strangers. Whether they want to be met and greeted or not. We have decided to consider people not yet known to us as potential allies--or at least interesting fodder--and not lurking dangers.Some random and unscientific observations:
- The more spandex and high tech gear, the less likely a bike rider is to acknowledge your existence.
- Men are more likely than women to respond if you insist on greeting them when they are pretending not to see you.
- Dead body parts disappear faster in Wauwatosa than in the wilds of Brookfield, though you will encounter more critters murdered by humans in Tosa. This does not lend much support to my belief that people are good until proven bad, but life is still better if you think that way. Most of the time.
Today we were delighted to encounter some rarer sorts among the more domestic species. A woman, rather beautiful, was walking through the woods wearing leopard print satin pajamas; a white satin robe, loosely tied; major wrist and ankle weights; and a huge white Three Musketeers hat with mirabou feathers all around the droopy brim. Accompanying her was a tiny older man, neatly and conventionally dressed. I'm not sure who was walking whom, but they may have wondered the same about Idgy and me.